


First love in four seasons (with hearty meals in between).

by je000nghan



Series: A Spoonful of Romance [1]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Neighbors, Romantic Fluff, Student!Jeonghan, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, chef!joshua, chef!mingyu & chef!junhui & chef!soonyoung & patissier!seokmin & receptionist!wonwoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 14:31:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16894395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/je000nghan/pseuds/je000nghan
Summary: Joshua is a chef who can’t stand witnessing his neighbor living off of instant noodles and fast food.





	First love in four seasons (with hearty meals in between).

**Author's Note:**

> hello ~ this one’s inspired by joshua during ‘saturday very nice lunch’, this [prompt](https://twitter.com/je000nghan/status/1070270497194045440?s=21), and the kdrama ‘temperature of love’ ♡

**_Autumn._ **

 

Unchronological as life always is, this love story begins at an ambiguous moment roughly a few days after the first time of the year where the leaves had started to fall and everything had been painted brown, yellow, and orange — for Joshua Hong, at least.

Joshua loves Autumn; he loves the rapid transition of the summer heat to the cold winds that blow strands of his hair that tickle his cheek; he loves how his steps create the crisp sounds of fallen leaves underneath the soles of his warm shoes and the fancy pairs of socks that hug his feet; and when it gets a bit too chilly, he loves hovering his hands over the translucent smokes steaming from above his fresh cup of coffee, varying from trendy flavors of toffee, matcha, and peppermint (on some days, he settles for that hot chocolate milk with tiny multi-colored marshmallows that never fail to make his day even if only a little bit better).

It was Autumn.

Joshua enters the kitchen earlier than his shift, an artistically woven basket of fine and sturdy bamboo embraced in one arm, carrying the morning’s freshest _enokitake_ mushrooms that sat along a variety of carefully picked vegetables. He makes sure to wipe his feet diligently against the doormat before anything. 

“You’re early, chef,” Junhui greets him, interrupting the swift motions of his knife chopping what seemed to be his fifth piece of carrot, so to assist his boss with the groceries.

“So are you,” Joshua greets back, hands and eyes busy as he scans through the kitchen, making sure they left the premise squeaky clean from the night before; the more that the countertops are empty, the more it is exciting to disturb for yet another busy business shift. Today, they start in two hours.

Mingyu comes trailing behind him, volunteering to put away the groceries to the storage room; and Joshua thanks the second earlier _chef de partie_ to clock in for the day.

Joshua sets himself for the opening hour, the simpler lunch menu all too memorized at the back of his head; and his work begins the moment he ties his apron around his back.

Mingyu returns to the kitchen not long later, mouthing a train of good morning complaints unto Junhui, wrongfully accusing the latter for wasting so much carrots with his mediocre vegetable cutting skills. And Junhui retorts with an obvious answer, _‘That’s why I’m practicing, Kim Mingyu! Sheesh, and chopping is all you ever do.”_ — and Joshua joins along the atmosphere’s good and playful laughter.

  

Joshua ends his day in eight (fast) hours later, happy to have introduced a special menu, fitting just right for the Fall season — and it’s at times like this that he becomes all the more grateful for his parents, allowing him the best education they can afford and sending him to a prestigious culinary school in the land of Paris. This way, while other restaurants mind themselves with their own versions of the ever common pumpkin soup, heirloom grains, and cinnamon-flavored everything, (even that brief moment of salted egg craze, which personally, Joshua isn’t a fan of), Joshua is able to contribute his well-learned _Daube de Boeuf, Marget de Canard_ , and his very own way of cooking a classic piece of halibut.

 

Joshua comes home always just a little below full satisfaction.

 

He lived in a humble apartment, a simple single-story home above the neighborhood-favorite _Seokmin’s Bakery,_ owned by his workplace’s previous pâtissier. And before his home kitchen ranks as his top zone of peace and comfort, Joshua foremost loves the small balcony that carried his herbal plants and those that bore his self-grown little cherry tomatoes.

At night, especially, he likes treating himself with a glass of wine and a few slices of cheese underneath the very few stars of Seoul, before wrapping the day and cuddling himself under his grandma-made sheets. Usually, Joshua drowns himself with the quiet sounds of the breeze and the distant noises of the crickets and the cars passing by the city streets; it is only when he feels particularly lonely that he accompanies his midnights with the softest tunes of French love songs and coffee table jazz from playlists sent to him from time to time by Chinese artist, Xu Minghao, who he befriended on a weekend in a suburb in France.

 

Joshua’s life has always been complimented as a degree better than some others’, fantasized at best; but it’s not unless they would figure out that the man seated with a glass of wine in the middle of a comfortable balcony, suffers his fair share of simple human sadness.

 

Joshua was turning 23, and he had never experienced a fair taste of good romance before.

 

He’s curious, is all. For months and months it’s always less the romance.

 

 

For months and months…

 

 

and months…

 

 

and months…

 

 

 

until tonight.

 

 

 

Someone had managed to break his nightly meditation streak.

 

 

And Joshua has been coming home to the sight of him every midnight since then.

  
  
  
  
  


**_Winter._ **

  

Winter was never so busy, but the stress comes at its peak. Negative. It is incomparable to the adrenaline that leads to fast hands and swift feet, calling out two orders after another; it is incomparable to the continuous sounds of pre-heated oil, sparking at the moment it touches raw meat; and it is incomparable to the ear-ringing sounds of metals, clanging against the pots and the spoons awaiting to be washed on the large silver sink.

Winter was stressful, nonetheless. 

It was stressful because it was always so, _so_ slow.

But Joshua had learned to be more understanding for he, himself, liked staying inside the warmth of his home rather than stepping out to harsh frostbites from the cold kisses of Whoville-less flakes of snow.

However, Joshua wouldn’t really have much of a choice. So he pedals his bicycle, muscles straining in cold, and completes his shift that ran from the afternoon until the restaurant’s last hour to close.

 

Joshua takes an unexpected rough swerve beyond the lane, his entire body almost falling down a thick sheet of snow had he not quickly dug a foot four inches inside it. Joshua wouldn’t mind, however, not about his body; but, he _would_ mind if the extra servings of _Tartiflette_ he cooked earlier would have fallen down to waste.

 _Tartiflette,_ often defined as a potato gratin with onions and bacon topped with melted reblochon cheese; a heavy winter dish Joshua guessed would be well enough to fill a stomach that had been living off of instant ramen and, on better days, _jajangmyeon_ delivery from the nearest Chinese restaurant on the block. 

Joshua had noticed: his new neighbor from the start of Fall, a (handsome) man right about his age and height, often come at past midnight from a trip to the convenience store, with a small plastic bag of different flavors of unhealthy noodles each time. Sometimes, he’d catch the delivery guy pick up empty bowls (with evident black sauce scraped to seizure) on the early minutes before lunch time. 

Joshua can no longer stomach the sight of such an unsound lifestyle.

So tonight — or rather, at three in the morning when he usually comes home from his shift — Joshua lays a (microwavable) container of his _Tartiflette_ cooked with a neighbor’s civilized concern, a note sitting atop it that read _‘hey, neighbor! just a humble meal from me to you. i bet it’s cold by the time you see this, just pop it in the oven for a few minutes before you eat, yeah? have a nice meal and a wonderful day ahead! — joshua :)’_

 

Joshua finds the container on the same spot the next day, clean and empty; at the top sat a new note that greeted him a _‘i have never tasted anything so good and so new. thank you, joshua. :) — jeonghan’_

 

He takes it away with a smile on his face and a name that rolls on his tongue quite fondly.

_Jeonghan._

 

(And he wonders if _Jeonghan_ would relish on another meal tomorrow.)

  
  
  
  
  


**_Spring._ **

 

_Click._

Joshua has had a bad evening.

_Clang!_

A really bad evening.

_Fuck…_

Joshua rarely cursed, very rarely against the innocence that filtered words under his soft breath. 

(But Joshua just had a really, _really_ bad evening.)

Sighing, he bends dramatically to his ankles, reaching for the handles of his bicycle, careful not to hit his sensitive hand again — not anymore than his third attempt to lock it properly without feeling much of the painful burn on one of his palms. Goodness, if he weren’t any kinder, he could have long addressed a train of curses unto the culprit. Thank God he knew better. Soonyoung was a rookie chef anyways, and he had apologized more than enough for the accident. Joshua just hates how he has to bear the consequences of boiling water poured over his poor skin.

Quickly enough though, all his frustrations found a quick shift at the sight of white light beaming through the little space under his door; and with a sad smile, he turns the knob and enters.

 

Solace welcomes him in the form of broad shoulders, hunched down to utter discomfort; a pair of angel’s scapulae moving to indicate a man sound asleep. Joshua quietly kicks off his winter boots and hangs his coat simultaneously, before gently walking to the man dozing atop the cold metals of his small and industrial kitchen island.

Joshua wonders how long Jeonghan had been bearing the stilted position; he bets a red blush marked by the arm underneath his cheek.

“Jeonghan-ah?” he calls, a hand tapping lightly on the other’s shoulder. “Hannie?”

Jeonghan responds with _Mm?,_ looking up with hooded eyes, following the sight of Joshua who stood beside him.

“You can rest in the room, Jeonghan-ah. You’ll hurt your back here.”

“Yes,” Jeonghan answers, but his body moves to the contrary. Instead, he reaches an arm around Joshua’s waist, snuggling his sleepy face unto the latter’s stomach. “Later, Shua. I still have so much study.”

(Jeonghan loves that he can smell the hint of fresh laundry from Joshua’s clothes, winning against the mix of scents that tells of being locked hours and hours inside a busy kitchen.) 

 _Ah_ , _exams._ Joshua figures.

 _Oh, shnit! Exams!_ he remembers, because _oh, fluck!_ he promised he’d make something for Jeonghan tonight! He promised a pacification to the man’s intensified stress-induced nights in the form of an alternative meal that offers more energy than his usual cups of coffee.

Joshua feels immensely sorry for forgetting, he was supposed to come home earlier than usual (as planned); and it breaks his heart to see two empty cups of instant noodles sitting remotely from the pile of unfinished ‘cases’ and an intimidatingly thick book of Korean laws Joshua would never find interesting.

It’s underwhelming to say that he feels _bad_ , because somewhere along leaving meals with post-its before Jeonghan’s apartment door, he discovers that the man he was befriending was a man in his last (and heaviest) year into becoming an attorney.

 

 

It dates back to a winter dawn where Jeonghan had caught the man who had been feeding him multiple extravagant meals in a row.

It’s not very common for any person to taste the privilege of free French cuisine and other hearty meals Jeonghan has never heard of, so when he finds himself studying until three in the morning, Jeonghan decides to give himself a short break and brace the chilly winds. With his mind determined to catch his stomach’s saving grace, he stands before his door for long minutes until he sees a man in a bicycle slowly approaching his way. 

Jeonghan purses his lips in an attempt to play down the smile his muscles demanded to magnify after sighting the _cutest_ , _prettiest_ man he has ever laid his two (four) eyes on. But, _damn it!_ the man looked like a startled deer and his presence had changed the winds unto something all too en _deer_ ing.

“It’s you,” he says, and his plan to suppress his emotions fails as he breaks into the biggest, sweetest smile upon talking. “Joshua?”

At his shyest state, Joshua nods while his lips started quivering. (Joshua thinks he’s saying _‘yes, that’s me’,_ oh but no words are coming out of his timid mouth.)

“I’m Jeonghan! Yoon Jeonghan. I live here.”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“What?”

_Oh, fluck._

“I-i mean, yeah. Ah. I’m Joshua. Hong. A-and you’re the, the Jeonghan. Jeonghan guy. Yeah,” Joshua stutters, the most awkward laugh following suit. “W-why are you out here? It’s late—”

 “Ah. I’m usually up at this hour… and I thought I’d take a chance to see who’s been leaving me meals for the past few days.”

 Jeonghan’s voice was soft and sweet, his speaking was almost a lullaby to Joshua’s vulnerable ears. Somehow, some-odd-how, Joshua finds warmth and comfort from the man before him, and he doesn’t stop himself from blushing at the thought of it.

“They’re amazing, Joshua. I mean it every time I say I have never tasted anything like each meal. I don’t know how to thank you enough or repay you. I worry how much money you—”

 “Don’t,” Joshua stops him. “Please, don’t. You don’t have to.” 

“I really appreciate it, Joshua, but I don’t want to trouble you anymore…”

Understandable.

Joshua lets the silence sit as he gets off his bicycle and pulls out another container of food (this time, a simple onion soup). He insists for Jeonghan to take it, exchanging the empty container from last night.

“The past few months of witnessing you live off of ramyeon and fast food was a painful strain in the eyes,” Joshua jokes, sharing a laugh with the other. “I insist, Jeonghan, and believe me when I say they don’t cost much. Not from where I make them, at least.”

“Thank you.”

  

The day ends as it begins another, four hours passing in a blur from the moment Jeonghan thanks Joshua, coupled with an invitation to come inside. Later, the skies were blue and the birds were chirping, and the soup Joshua had brought him had long been finished.

Joshua doesn’t sit on his balcony anymore thereafter. Instead, he plops down on his bed and tucks himself in his thick sheets, his mind replaying all the deeper introductions of him as a passionate chef, and of Jeonghan, who he learns is a university graduate student in legal concentration. Closing his eyes, he hopes to dream about the same thing over and over; a tinge of hope whispering from his heart, wishing to see Jeonghan, from now on, more often.

 

 

Jeonghan tightens his hug around Joshua, complaining about how frustrated he has been with his exams and how much he missed the latter tonight; and Joshua lets him, brushing a hand over the back of Jeonghan’s head until he’s finished whining, his last remark a baby’s tone of _‘I’m hungry.’_

Tired as he may be, Joshua proceeds to prepare him a quick and healthy snack. So in ten minutes, he’s sliding a nice plate of tuna sandwich (and a new cup of tea) exactly where Jeonghan can see it in his bird’s eye view.

Jeonghan mouths a _‘thank you’_ and squeezes Joshua’s hand _‘goodnight’._

 

(Later, Joshua awakes from his slumber to a clean, Jeonghan-less kitchen with a cute little first-aid kit left atop the island, posted with a note that read _‘shua, i’ll be at home. thanks for letting me study in your space tonight. i’m sorry i couldn’t ask about your hand, i figured you tried to hide it from me… but shua, i saw it, okay? let’s visit the doctor in the morning. :)’_ )

  
  
  
  


 

 

**_Summer._ **

  

Oh, the _busiest._ Tourists from all parts of the world come for meals here and there, and Joshua abso-fucking-lutely loves it! Joshua loves the rush of the kitchen and the never-ending line of customers awaiting for a seat; he loves the constant ringing of the bell and the loud table numbers yelled in between; he also loves how there seem to be more children than usual, ordering from the menu especially laid out for them; and all other factors that bring him the best of his adrenaline and the finest of his passion.

For the years that Joshua had worked in the kitchen, he had always appreciated receiving orders from his superiors as a line-chef; appreciated _exchanging_ orders as a sous-chef; and now, he had started appreciating _giving_ orders as the newly appointed Head Chef — and the very thought of finally achieving his lifelong dream makes him toss his pizza dough in pride.

 

“Chef, someone’s outside for you,” their receptionist excuses, ever so politely even after business hours. 

The kitchen had been so busy, Joshua didn’t feel the day coming to an end.

“Thanks, Won,” he acknowledges, wiping his hands dry; the lemon scent of the handsoap sticking freshly unto his clean skin. He already knows this particular _someone_ ; he had been coming to see him from time to time.

Joshua rushes between countertops, dodging Junhui who yells to indicate his presence from behind, a tray of cutlery carried on top of the latter’s hand. Washing hours was less chaotic, more hurried; every kitchen crew itching to clock out.

“Can you take over from here? I have someone outside,” Joshua asks, apron tossed over his forearm.

“Yes, chef! It’s always exciting when I’m in charge.” 

He laughs in response, feeling the enthusiastic smile that beams from the newly-promoted sous-chef’s lips. “Thank you, Mingyu. You’ve done well.”

 

Joshua comes out of the backdoor like usual, never any less excited to see his _also_ _usual_ visitor every time — there he is, his neighbor Jeonghan, standing patiently beside two bikes (one of which being Joshua’s); his hands lazily clutched over the excess material hanging under his knapsack’s shoulder straps, his feet mindlessly kicking against the ground.

Joshua literally skips to his direction, hugging him from behind. “What’s up?” he asks, poking his head through the small space under Jeonghan’s arm. “Did you study well tonight?”

Jeonghan lets him struggle beneath him, tightening his muscles in a chokehold, and laughing at the whiny sounds of protest Joshua makes in return before he releases the chef freely. Jeonghan couldn’t help it, he likes seeing Joshua upclose and squeezing so much cuteness out of him; and the moonlight reflecting against the smooth of Joshua’s face doesn’t help him from containing his admiration.

(He will never not delight in the sight of Joshua’s _Bambi_ eyes; of his nose that scrunch up cutely as he laughs; and of his two front-teeth sticking out underneath his lip.)

He loves Joshua.

He had known this from the weeks that followed that Winter dawn and how Joshua never stopped bringing him meals since then; he had known it between the free days they have spent in each other’s apartments, slothing around the couch with their eyes locked unto various Netflix shows only to catch himself watching the way Joshua’s chest heaves along his even breath, napping on his pillow of a shoulder.

Sometimes, Jeonghan takes them out to a nice café nearby, happy at how easy Joshua rejoices with a slice of red velvet cake and a nice cup of coffee; and Jeonghan realizes he was as sweet as his tastebuds suggest — no wonder that one day by the end of December, Joshua came home to a flour-filled countertop where Jeonghan stands, sporting an apologetic smile; and Joshua’s heart melts at the former’s attempt to surprise him with a cake, and how he made up for his mess with a warm song that greeted him _‘happy birthday’._

Because Jeonghan loves him.

He loves him very much.

 

“I’m not sure,” he confesses, his _Squirtle-smile_ follows a disappointed tongue-click. 

Joshua imitates in empathy, he knows how much Jeonghan had been studying; he always studied so diligently, and twice as more during exams. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Eh,” Jeonghan deadpans. “Last exam was… you know, I’ve come to the point where I’m left with no choice but to invent answers, and I still can’t come up with anything to invent…” he jokes, and Joshua slaps him in return. “So I’m trying my best, as I always do.” 

Joshua smiles at him, the proudest he can show. “Yes, you always do, Hannie. I believe in you.”

 It’s Jeonghan who initiates them to come home, paddling childishly up and down warm asphalt as they bike side by side. And in the quiet night of their neighborhood, Joshua ducks in humble embarrassment as Jeonghan yells a _‘Congratulations!’_ and calling him _his_ ‘Head Chef’.

 

 

_His._

 

 

Joshua’s hands freeze shut over his bike’s handles, the soles of his shoes almost burning as they scrape unto the ground.

 

 

 _‘My_ Head Chef.’

 

 

Joshua could feel cold sweat build on his back and on the roots of his scalp, his pulse so rapid, he could almost forget how to breathe.

 

“Shua?” Jeonghan looks over his shoulder where he sees Joshua behind him — just standing there, stupefied. “What’s wrong?”

 

Joshua’s silence attacks panic upon Jeonghan, the latter rushing off before him, abandoning his bike — the clash of the metals ringing Joshua back to his senses.

It’s all so confusing for Jeonghan at this point, watching Joshua stare at him blankly, giving off no clue that in his mind, he was actually jumping and screaming in utmost rejoice, wanting to celebrate his emotions in the grandest of gestures and the loudest of praises — because it is only then that Joshua realizes that perhaps, this is _love_ ; and that _this_ is how it feels to fall in love.

 

“Joshuji?”

 

And so, he collects himself with tranquil and braves himself with courage, responding to _his love_ with a haste and bashful _kiss_.

It catches Jeonghan off-guard, and he could almost lose his composure had he not realized that Joshua did _not_ know _how_ to kiss. And because he loves him so much and actually wants to kiss him back, he teaches him — this time, deeper and longer until their bodies demand of balance.

Kissing was so much easier to learn than the love he has for Jeonghan, four seasons and multiple meals combined; and there’s nothing more that makes him so graced and satisfied than his arms that had found their way around Jeonghan’s neck, the latter’s wrapped around his waist.

Joshua sighs.

“It’s an epiphany.”

“Which one?” Jeonghan asks, his face hot and flushed, breath warm as his lips still hover over Joshua’s; and it’s overwhelming to discover that his heart could beat incredibly, _beastly_ fast now that he could fill himself with the sight of Joshua with so little space between them.

 

“You,” he answers.

 _“Me?”_ Jeonghan repeats.

 

Joshua nods.

  
  
  


 

 

 

_“You’re my first love.”_

**Author's Note:**

> hey! it’s been a while since i last wrote something fluffy so hope you liked this despite the fluff-rust!
> 
> and if you did, let me know with a comment & a kudos? pretty please & thank you ♡
> 
> * UPDATE: made a [collection of drabbles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16918395/chapters/39748647) following this fic! check them out if you want more of chef!joshua & student!jeonghan (who will eventually become lawyer!jeonghan as we progress) ♡
> 
> also, the stressed student that i am would gratefully take a cup of coffee as a form of support: [here!](https://ko-fi.com/F1F7OQ52) you know, if you ever liked my work that much. i’ll drink it well, i promise. thank you ♡
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/je000nghan) | [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/je000nghan) | [twt filo au acc](https://twitter.com/yoonhong_)


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